Hands off the Nativity play

THE shepherds have tea towels on their heads, held on by elastic belts with snake clasps. One king, in a tinfoil crown, picks his nose. Another waves at his mum. The baby Jesus, usually a plastic doll, is dangling by his left leg as Mary, draped in an old blue sheet with tinsel in her hair, stumbles over her lines. It's all part of the charm of the infant Nativity play.

For novelist, raconteur and former school inspector Gervase Phinn, this is what he looks forward to most at this time of year. "Innocent children re-enacting one of the greatest stories of all time capture the very essence of Christmas," he says.

Gervase is passionate about many things, especially when it comes to education. But when talking about recent reports that just one primary school in five is planning to stage a traditional Nativity play this year due to fears other faiths may be offended by it, he is particularly ebullient.

"I get a bit hot under the collar about this. Schools should do a Nativity play. People say they are going to stop it because we live in a multi-cultural society, but a good school will celebrate other ways of living like Divali and Hanukkah as well. Children need to learn about other cultures and beliefs.

"But it is totally wrong to drop the Nativity, it is part of our cultural heritage. For me, as a Christian it is the greatest story of all time.

"You will regard it as a story even if you are not a Christian - the fact that the Son of God, the Prince of Peace, the King of Kings will be born in a stinking cowshed, the lowest of the low, the weakest of the weak, the humblest of the humble, it is a story that is timeless."

Gervase is in Ripon to do a reading from his book, Wayne in a Manger, an amusing reflection on nativity plays, at the Ripon Cathedral carol service in aid of Yorkshire Cancer Research.

If a recent survey is to be believed, he may have his work cut out. One third of Britons don't know where Jesus was born or that an angel told Mary she was to give birth to a son.

Only 12 per cent of the 1,015 adults in last month's poll, commissioned by the theological think-tank Theos, could answer four basic questions about the Christmas story correctly. And, perhaps reflecting a decline in the telling of Bible stories in schools and the popularity of Nativity plays, it found people's knowledge dips significantly with age, with only seven per cent of under 24-year-olds able to answer all four questions correctly.

Many argue the decline in popularity of the traditional Christmas story reflects the increasing secularisation of Christmas, something Gervase himself rails against: "It is massively over-commercialised.

I don't send cards and I don't get presents."

Gervase, the son of a steelworker born in a council house in Rotherham, was brought up by his parents to believe that no one was better than anyone else - a central theme, he points out, in the Nativity itself.

His mother, a devout, front pew Catholic, named him after an obscure saint. "They must have had a sense of humour to name a boy born in a council house Gervase," he laughs. It is a quality he has clearly inherited.

Gervase, now 61, went on to become a teacher and schools inspector, but it was when he stopped marking exercise books and started to write his own series of tales based on his experiences in schools in the Yorkshire Dales and elsewhere that his life changed dramatically.

His first autobiographical novel, The Other Side of the Dale, was published in 1998 and instantly became a bestseller. He went on to publish three more in the series. "I packed in the job and haven't looked back," he says.

He doesn't plan any further inspector in the Dales' books but is currently working on his early memoirs which, unlike the tragic life stories so popular in publishing now, celebrate his happy childhood.

Gervase, who has four grown-up children himself, has also written a children's novel, A Bit Of A Hero, about bullying, which is due out next year. Despite his track record as a successful author, it was initially rejected by four publishers, unused to Gervase's serious side.

He is best known, of course, for his light-hearted stories based on the wit and wisdom of children and the funny things they say. The honesty of children is disarming and comical, he says. But it is also meaningful too.

"The words of small children lift our spirits, they help us to feel good about ourselves and others and they make us optimistic about the future."

And nowhere more so than in events like Nativity plays, he says, returning to the theme. As a former teacher and inspector for English and drama, he has been to about 50 performances over the years.

Parents, grandparents, aunties and uncles, neighbours and friends, he says, fill the halls for what is often the highlight of their school year. "The charm of it all is the pure innocence of the little ones on stage. To see Mary, aged six, draped in pale blue and tightly clutching Baby Jesus to her chest never fails to bring a tear to the eye.

"To see Joseph, in a dressing gown with a thick, multi-coloured towel draped over his head, always brings a smile to the lips."

In the last production he went to, Joseph announced: "Miss, miss, the donkey's wet itself." And then the Angel Gabriel appeared in trainers that lit up and flashed. In another, one of the angel's gowns had gathered up at the back. "I can see your knickers," shouted a shepherd.

He remembers one little innkeeper in a production he attended who was upset because he wanted the part of Joseph. So he allowed Mary to come through the door but told Joseph: "You can push off!"

To make matters worse, when Mary later picked up her baby, a big plastic doll with curly blonde hair, it announced in a loud, tinny American accent: "My name is Tammy. Are you my mommy? My diaper needs changing."

One of his favourites was the nativity he attended in a real cow byre about ten years ago, performed by a little Dales school of 30 children in Yorkshire dialect. "They had a real baby and real cows and other animals. It was fantastic, although they probably couldn't do it now because of health and safety."

In one telling moment at another Dales school, Joseph pointed to Mary as he pleaded with the innkeeper for a room. "She's having a babby," he said. "I can't help that, it's nowt to to wi me," said the innkeeper.

"I know," said Joseph, sighing as he turned to the audience. "And it's nowt to do with me neither."

Moments like this have been a feature of our primary school life for generations. And hopefully, says Gervase, they will continue to be so for many generations to come.

* Gervase Phinn's latest book, Little Treasures, is published by The Dalesman. A Wayne in a Manger is published by Penguin, £5. The DVD of his stage show, Tales from the Dales: Gervase Phinn Live is available in bookshops.